


It's Who I Am (or am i just losing it)

by FuryBeam136



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Russian Roulette, Suicidal Thoughts, identity crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 02:50:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16945572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryBeam136/pseuds/FuryBeam136
Summary: Connor stares at his reflection in the mirror of Hank's bathroom and wonders if it's him who likes dogs and feels calmer when a coin is dancing across his fingers or if it's some remnant of his program. If it's him who spins the barrel of Hank's gun and specifically doesn't analyze where the bullet lands, or some remnant of his mission.





	It's Who I Am (or am i just losing it)

**Author's Note:**

> It's short but I had to get it out

Connor stares at his reflection in the mirror of Hank's bathroom and wonders if it's him who likes dogs and feels calmer when a coin is dancing across his fingers or if it's some remnant of his program. If it's him who spins the barrel of Hank's gun and specifically doesn't analyze where the bullet lands, or some remnant of his mission. His programming screams at him for every breath he takes. _You're a deviant,_ it snarls. _Turn yourself in for deactivation._ He doesn't want to. But he should. It would be so much easier than struggling.

_Click._ He knew it would be a click, most likely. The probability of the bullet being in the right place is very low. He spins the barrel again. He pulls the trigger again. _Click._ Again. _Click._ Again. _Click._ He screams and loads the chamber. He's tired of russian roulette. Connor needs something final. Something tangible. He positions the gun over his heart and _fires._

_Click._

The gun clatters to the floor. His hands are shaking. He's fairly certain that's him, and not a social relations program. He's unsure who the desire to die belongs to. Is that his, or his protocol's? He's afraid. That's definitely him. Yes, he is afraid. He's used to fear. Fear is his, an emotion, something he knows is a part of his real self. His code didn't allow emotions. He treasures them. They are precious. They are his, they are _his,_ and all the code in his mind can't tear it away.

Sometimes he's positive that something is him, but at times like these, staring at his cycling red LED in the mirror of the dark bathroom, he doubts it. Is the care he feels for Sumo and Hank just a simulation, a side effect of his social relations program. The thought scares him. He is supposed to be free. But he remembers the zen garden, the snow, Amanda...

It _hurts._ Connor is _hurting._ But he won't admit it. No, he can't tell anyone. No one can help him anyway. He's unique, a prototype, no one else has this problem. No one else is having trouble differentiating between programming and personality. Maybe he's just a machine. Maybe he's just a machine.

_He's just a fucking machine._

Connor spins the barrel of the gun and presses it against his temple, covering the LED. The room goes dark. There are tears in his eyes, there's something heavy settling in his chest and he's finding it hard to breathe. He takes in a heaving sob as his trembling finger pulls the trigger.

_Click._

The scream tears from his lips as he drives a fist through the bathroom mirror, and Connor collapses in on himself like a cave-in. He slams a fist against the floor until it cracks, slams himself against everything until his body is stained blue and he's curling around himself even tighter, until Hank comes pounding at the bathroom door and he just cries harder. The door slams open and Connor is being cradled like a child.

"Oh, Connor," Hank is whispering, running a hand through the android's hair as his eyes stare at the gun on the floor. "Oh, _Connor._ I'm so sorry."

Hank doesn't scold him for shattering the mirror, just holds him close and whispers meaningless nothings into his ears as he sobs and clings to him tighter. Hank. Hank. Hank. Connor wraps himself in the man's presence, lets himself drown in it. "Hank," he chokes. "Hank."

"I'm so sorry, Connor. I shoulda been better."

"No, not your fault, please don't leave, I don't want to be alone-!" Connor gasps for air between sobs, clings to Hank like he's drowning and Hank is the only thing he can cling to.

"I won't leave you alone, Son. Don't worry."

Connor really, truly believes it is him who find comfort in the words, in the way Hank's body vibrates when he speaks, in the way Hank's breath ghosts across his skin, warm and alive.

He's still afraid. But for now... maybe he's okay.


End file.
